The Dance, The Death, The Green Fairy
by importance of leather gloves
Summary: He thought her a deity, but she was no goddess to pray to. She was what he craved the most- a death bearer with the perfect sin in her immortal body. The green fairy in absinthe wasn't guilty. Seishirou x Chizuru, one-shot about how they might have met. And all hail to canon for this once.


_**AN: **First of all, I adore the canonz goodness that is Seishirou x Chizuru, and am still utterly sad about what had happened to them. Not to mention uber-pissed. The fact that there was no fiction and almost no fanart for them did not really help, either. So, obviously, I wanted to change that._

_Anyways, this is_ _a one-shot, mainly because I have almost no free time, but I do think about writing more for this pairing. So, reviews are quite appreciated._

* * *

_**The Dance, The Death, The Green Fairy**_

* * *

In the extravagantly adorned grand ballroom brimming over with people, it was still hard not to notice her presence. He did not need to turn to see her standing there, under some sort of holy spotlight, telling him she's there to set him free in a language only she and he knew.

But he made no move.

The hair on his neck stood as her eyes fixed themselves on his back, his hand froze on the glass he'd been holding, from which he was drinking his troubles away with a grace easily reserved.

Despite his young age, he was mature enough to resent his parents, the people with no pride, no sense of virtue in them at all, while all they did was to talk about duties and responsibilities against their much rotten community. The charades, so much like those cheap courtiers' from old times, laying slothfully on their authentic cedars, playing their boring, easy to guess games on less creditable lives, everything about them so very disgusting and meaningless. Being the only son to this sort of family, all he could do was to try to find a way out of this life, and when not being able to come up with one, to drink until he passed out.

And now, as he stood and breathed among this human trash, Seishirou could not erase the belittling sneer off his face. Countless times he wished them dead. Countless times he dreamt of his hands drenched in red with their blood. And lately, every night, he saw a woman smelled of _the eternal_, getting back what those people did not deserve. He could recall the feeling when the woman sucked whatever life such filth possessed, adding up to hers, consolidating the immortality.

Did gods need others to expand their lives? It didn't matter. Now the woman he dreamt about stood between them, this was what was important, his drunk mind needed to remember that. His parents and their much similar family _friends_ – those enemies with fake smiles, ready to pounce at each other at any chance of splashing dirt on their _bought_, clean and white sheets - was finally meeting with holy punishment. Drowned in the out of this world air she brought inside; while he could not dare to turn to the gates and face her immortal, beyond beautiful figure, he waited to hear the muffled screams of dying breaths. All courage and all sense of reality were completely drained out of his mortal body, his extremities felt lifeless and the glass in his hand threatened to spill the fiery green it contained. He was being a coward, possibly for the first time in his life.

No, that was a lie. He was still with these rotten people, wasn't he? Didn't this make him out to be the biggest coward of them all?

_Ah, damn,_ he cursed uncharacteristically. _I'm waiting here, completely succumbed to whatever evil is going on around me, and waiting for the hand of god to punish them, to save me,_ he said to himself, despising his own being limitlessly.

He didn't deserve salvation.

And certainly, the hand of god, the goddess of vengeance, the breath of azrael, could _not_ be here.

_I simply must be too drunk to be awake,_ he thought aimlessly, _no, this being, this woman, this can't be right,_ he concluded as he stumbled along the carved oak table, his hand leaving a sweaty trail on the wood. _This bearer of death cannot be standing in the middle of the cheap flesh and sweat and __the fog of cigar smoke, strong odor of heavy perfumes attacking from every direction. _

He felt his logic evaporate as he slowly succumbed to the idea of her reality. He desperately wanted to believe in this sole exit.

His head spinned harder as minutes progressed slower than he'd ever experienced, still refusing to face her ethereal being. Was she closing on him? Was she already taking lives? Was he really going to be spared from her wrath, or was he thinking himself too high?

_Was she really ethereal, was this the smell of the eternal? _He heard himself doubt a deity, his sole salvation. _Was she a deity? Was she really there?_ He wanted to take them all right back when he realized what he was thinking. He could remember her flowing platinum hair only befitting for an immortal, something that could only belong to a creature from god's land. _God's creature in human lands,_ he whispered to himself, earning a few awkward glances. He slowly stroked his forehead, trying to focus. It did no good. The vision he recalled from his dream was scorched on his eyelids. Her figure, so perfect, had haunted the rotten down, draining every ounce of life out of them, putting out the undeserved light in their eyes. Seishirou recalled the immense pleasure he experienced when he saw those bottomless eyes for a mere moment as she turned to him with a translucent smile. How disappointed he was when he kept waking up at the exact same moment every night.. he never could touch her in his dreams. He didn't suppose he could touch her in the reality, either. For that, she needed to be real first. God's creatures weren't real, there were no goddesses to pray to. And he knew there was no God to begin with, otherwise the people who surrounded him would already have been burst into flames for their behaviour befitting only to Satan himself, perhaps even more hypocritical variations of that creature of evil.

He could not think straight. He stumbled and the green drink spilled across the exotic, luxurious food his parents laid out for their undeserving guests.

He could not take living in their world anymore. This was one of those times drinking made his pain worse.

_Be real,_ he prayed, shutting his wide eyes tight, his hand still clenched on his glass, the other, holding onto the table to gain his balance.

As he tightened his hold, as the feeling, her presence became stronger and stronger, like a hand pressuring his windpipe, it became almost impossible to breathe. It was something he had yet to have a name for. He looked at the half-empty glass in bewilderment, wondering if that was the famous green fairy's doing. _Darned absinthe,_ they'd say, _drives mad the sanest man. _

Only, he could not claim he was the sanest man when he felt _the bearer of death_ touching his shoulder. When did she come to stand so close? He froze, his eyes once again opened as wide as they could in absolute fascination and somewhat terror, until he heard her voice addressing him.

"I'm your friend, Seishirou," the being said, the woman in glowing white spoke with a voice that shook him to his very core. He wasn't surprised that she knew his name. She should know everything, if she really was what he thought she was.

"I'm here to help you, and to help me," she said with obscurely prepared wisdom Seishirou couldn't tell. She was no god, no saint, no hand carrying justice.

"I know your pain," she told him as he continued to stare at the wall instead of facing her. Her delicate hands gently squeezed his shoulder.

"But you don't have to live in it anymore." She was material, he realized in a mere moment, no matter how translucent her skin looked. He could feel the sins of flesh as he gazed upon her beautiful hand and then, when he saw those bottomless eyes once again. She had the voice of a siren but she was still something from _this_ world, somewhere he too belonged, and someone, then, _also_ could belong to _him._

With that, suddenly he turned, in a feverish lust surpassed the need of eradicating dirt from this world, grabbing her hand, hearing the words freeing him from every single hold that had been chaining him down. Doubting her etherealness was a blasphemy, as was to claim her to be a goddess of all holy souls. A creature of pure, blunt sin she was and that was something he craved, a tainted justice to bring to his hypocritical world. A creature with blood dripping from her lower lip, a she-devil with a promise in her deep eyes to explore every sensual sin to be found, coming here to end his pain, giving him the salvation he sought after all his life. To give him what he did not realize he needed.

He suddenly knew _everything._

He grasped her hand, his mouth curved into a grin with a hint of insanity, his body suddenly coming together with hers, in the façade of losing himself to the music. She was surprised at his sudden movement, but pleased with his courage to come close to her. She had been afraid of his reaction before. This made her aware that he understood what she was, fully. She embraced him in a way so womanly then; melting against his body as she dreamt of doing for so long, her small, delicate hands caressing his back, one finally ending up in his hair. Her lips was close to his neck and he noted the lack of breathing, as no warm air reached his skin. He did not flinch at all. He knew despite belonging to this world, she was no ordinary human. Then their eyes met, both courageous, both knowing; and as if synchronized, they stepped forward, as graceful as a couple can be, like they had known each other's movements since the beginning of time. The drums were beat, the violins were played, everything that created the order crumbled into a million chaotic pieces as they stepped on the dance floor, live starting to revive death in the living, death bearer giving a new life to the man.

Until nothing made sense and no one except he and she stayed standing, until everything was so maddeningly perfect; they continued their ritual.

This was how they began.

This was how they'd end.

* * *

_**end**_


End file.
